Ceres made her way through the Bazaar, the torrential rain creating small lakes of mud and water. The shops had closed due to the rain, and a foreboding aura had descended over the town. Not only was the River Train Tribes on the war path, but rumor had it that the City of Light had fallen to enemies unknown and only ruins remained. Two slave caravans had returned to Bleak Wood and they reported that nothing was to be found among the ruins. Not a single round of ammunition, not a shirt, not even a singed skull or decaying corpse. It was as if some great horror had laid the city in ruin and stripped it of everything within.

The gigantic woman had just been to Anne’s place and repaid her the ammunition she had borrowed a year ago. Back then she had hoped to make it big in the steel trade. In the end the caravan had been raided just outside of Corona, when defenses were down due to setting camp, and these last months had been a living hell. Anne had made constant threats, which had not made the effort to raise funds any easier.

The smell of smoke and metal was in the air, it was always that way when the space dock was being prepared for a landing. The spacers would land tonight and the Warden would be there to trade with them. Rumors had it the spacers were interested in their own little discovery this time: A holy artifact of Radiatos that they found in the wasteland. Or perhaps they were after the horrors that a tribal hunting party kept trapped in the storage facility? Dismissing her thoughts, Ceres sighed heavily and jumped across a large pool of mud. She was late already.

******************************Ten minutes later in the foyer of the South Wall Storage Facility

“Where has that manly woman of ours hid herself?” Bakur half yelled while peering out through the doorway. His words were not harsh, and the burly man smiled as he spoke. “You might not want to say that…” Ralkhara whispered in reply, knowing well that Ceres and Bakur often fought between themselves, be it with words or fists. The odd couple had been at each other’s throats from the minute they met and their constant word duels had resulted in friendship and respect, though they would never admit that.

Bakur was a tribal, one of the Train People as they called themselves. Unlike the River Train tribes, which were warlike raiders, the Train People were peaceful smiths. Bakur was a formidable warrior in melee, but he was also on the slow side, which made Ceres win most of their word duels. (OOC: 13 is average intelligence, 8 is retard intelligence, Bakur has 10 intelligence, making him a dimwit)

Kiph looked at Ralkhara and noticed that the short and wiry scout bit his lower lip and rubbed his leg. “Pain again…” he more stated than asked. The Pathfinder did not reply, just as Kiph expected. The scout had been that way as long as they had known each other. They joined “Syringes Traders” over two years ago, as guards, but after Syringe died, the guards took over his possessions and tried to keep the business going. After all it was a living. But the last year had been unkind to them. In a risky maneuver, trying to do business in the spirit of Syringe, Ceres had loaned one hundred rounds of NATO 7.62mm ammo and used them to buy finely crafted suits of steel armor back in her home town of Corona. It went badly. Bandits were waiting for them outside of town and they barely survived the ambush. They had to dump the cargo or they probably would not have survived.

Kiph’s thoughts were interrupted as the hulking form of Ceres appeared in the doorway. The group medic was soaking wet and had mud up to her knees and some on her behind too. Apparently the woman had fallen on her rump as she made her way back from Drug’s Place.

“Business has been taken care of!” she stated flatly as she entered the room.

OOC: The room you are standing in is a derelict dump. There is layer upon layer of tagging on the brick walls and the fluorescent light is flashing on and off with irregular intervals. You have stored much of your equipment inside the facility, but you cannot sleep in there. Nightfall is one hour and fifty minutes away and you arrived in town about three hours ago. So far you have sold your goods and repaid your debt. (Steroid Anne didn't care much it was Ceres who borrowed the ammo. It was a finance project and she held you all responsible for the failure of that project).

Ceres pulled back the hood of her cloak, shaking her head, sending droplets of water soaring through the air in a reminiscence of their eager descent from the heavens. All too eager - she was soaked, drenched... though 'almost drowned' would also describe her state well.Mustering her ragged band of comrades, complices and confidants, she braced her hands against her hips and added:"Now that 'Roid Annie's out of our way we should get moving ... and, please, remind me of my folly should I even consider borrowing cash from her again..." a shadow streaked across Ceres' face, a companion to the memory of the last gruelling year.

"We've got to settle a few points, though their importance is paramount - for example, what will we do with..." she kicked one of the containers holding the milky Angel Juice ..."this junk" furthermore emphasizing her point with a frown. "I'd rather toss it down the drain than die for it, but hell, I'd like to see some profit from it too."

"Also..." her musings were interrupted by a loud sneeze, courtesy of the sleet outside "... I was listening around, trying to find a lead to the highwaymen who robbed us of our precious plate mails, so far nothing solid, though there are traces worth investigating - I sure would like if they were on the recieving end of beatings for once."

Thieves. Ceres would probably never be willing to tolerate such scoundrel, whether they stole from her or pilfered the belongings of others.That trail of thought brought her of course to another thief, one who wished to be called 'Warden'.

"Those strange guns - I'd like to show one, just one, to the spacers, as to learn what exactly they are, for they have to be weapons of some design. And value. Mister Warden should not get wind of this, lest he grabs them without compensation. Likewise, I'd like to sell the Shining Relic of Radiatos to the Spacers, and not mess with it further: we all know how the Ancients fared after dealing with such matters extensively."

Bracing her arms against a crate of shorts, leaning slightly forward, she concluded her flow of speech: "If I have forgotten anything of importance, please correct me. May I hear your opinions, gentlemen?"

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Kiph listened to the giant woman, his eyes darting from wall to wall as the flourescent lights flickered on and off. He felt like a caged animal, something he unforunately had plenty of experience with before. His nerves were frayed and the more Ceres spoke, the more anxious the young Fatebringer became.

"mm--a", his voice, which he used less often than his comrades, cracked, his garbled words dying in his throat.

"You know what I think already, Ceres", he began again, addressing the huge woman he had come to rely on these last two years. Ceres got things done, and consequences be d**ned! Kiph respected that. "Lets take her out. It can be done." He was no good at explaining anything, including his own garbled thoughts, but his three comrades knew what he meant. Kiph despised Steroid Anne, and often conjectured that it was the 'big &^%$@' herself that had a hand in that robbery. But it was when Anne's goons had 'mildly' hassled Kiph with promises of violence, including ramming an electrode rod in his mouth, while Steroid Anne was in "threat mode", that Kiph began boiling with hatred for the woman. His hatred had thrived this past year, and he had always petitioned Ceres to let him kill the woman. Ceres always refused.

"Let me kill her. I can do it." He tried again.

Kiph looked outside, cursing the sleet, awaiting a responce, though he already knew what Ceres' responce would be.

"I am not going near the Spacers, but if you want me to follow up on your lead on the bastards who robbed us, I will. Just tell me what you've learned", he added absently. Spacers were only one notch below Steroid Anne, on Kiph's somewhat childish and unrealistic "Kill List".

Kiph grew silent, and now stared at Ceres again. Devils and Demons, he wanted her! He wondered if the giant woman knew his feelings, as he rigorously scratched his temple. Bakur instinctively moved a foot further away from the Fatebringer, making a rude gesture as he did. Kiph had always disgusted the massive, but slow-witted Bakur. Kiph's looks wouldnt even get him a gig with Tosse's Whores, and Kiph had tried on numerous occasions. Then there was his dry, flaky, lizard-like skin.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Even behind the blackened bandages covering three quarters of his face, the group could see Ralkhara's wincing reaction when Ceres mentioned finding leads on those bandits, "It was nearly a year ago, Ceres, we have been over this. Even if we could find those bandits, they would have long gotten rid of the armor; it is an unnecessary risk." Ralkhara's cracked and broken voice sounded exasperated. His attitude was due to the fact that one year ago, he had failed to foresee the events leading to the loss of their cargo. Now he looked back on it, he was certain he should have been aware of it, too! There was that scrawny, bald man who was in the trade area when they bought the steel plates; he ran off into a side alley as soon as the transaction was complete. And then there was the fact that there were no militia posted outside the eastern gates of Corona when they left - it was only them and their cargo.

Ralkhara was seated cross-legged to one side of the room. In his lap was a half-completed sketch of the storage facility, which he was doing while waiting for Ceres to reappear. "If we were to lug that piece of machinery through town to show the spacers, it would not go unnoticed. I agree with showing them those weapons, however. And perhaps we could convince some of the spacers to come to this facility to study our machinery. The warden cannot do anything if it's in the spacers hands before he knows about it!"

"Oh!" The nomad rose from his seating position, using the wall to brace him as he stood, "And one of us should try and sell those pants, and half of gasoline. It might be smart to keep some of that fuel, though. Ceres - did you hear any more news on the City of Light? Does anyone know what happened to it, yet?"

Ralkhara sighed audibly at Kiphs suggestion of killing Steroid Anne - he had heard this routine before; Kiph seemed to have somewhat of a vendetta against people who wronged him in the slightest way, and that vendetta sometimes leeches over to people he hasn't even met before. "Why not kill the warden while you're at it," Ralkhara mused, "That would be more useful than putting down a tired, old brothel owner."

Bakur al-Raish eyed the noxious canisters of Angel Juice. "The Train River tribes might buy that," he offered. His own people would never even touch the stuff, of course. Weakens the mind and slows the arm. "I would not try too soon, though. They get grumpy." He recalled their last encounter, which had d**n near cost Bakur his head.

Bakur snorted at the Fatebringer as he suggested the hit. "You think too good of yourself, Badblood," he scoffed. "And you want too much blood," he nodded at Ceres. Bakur sometimes wondered why he bothered traveling with their likes. The Nomad was always dark and angsty, offering to kill this or that irrelevant thing. His bloodlust, though useful at times, never seemed to amount to much. And that woman Ceres! Insulting Bakur with her arrogant city-learning and feminine smithing. Oh, how Lahal must have cursed her for such an insult to his divine craft. "There's no profit in revenge," he added.

The tribal berserker perked up at Ralkhara's suggestion. "Yes, clothing could make good ammo," he said in agreement. "Good quality, there are many that might buy." It often seemed that Ralkhara was the only one that made sense in the group. Bakur didn't mind nomads so much, at least when made themselves useful. And Ralkhara always managed to do that despite his constant pain. The pathfinder might have made a good priest-smith, if only he'd been born a Bizaad al-Tabuh.

Bakur stood and stretched his body with a yawn. "You think Imad is allokay in the rain?" he asked aloud, looking out the doorway. Bakur's horse was certainly sturdy and well-adjusted to the weather, but he always worried over the beast of burden. Imad had been Bakur's for over ten years now, more a close friend than a pet. And he certainly came in handy when rough terrain had to be traveled quickly, either to trade, run, or attack.

Ceres stared thoughtfully at the Angelic Juice that had been brought from the vault. It was probably not safe to keep it here, but they had counted on the rain to provide shelter from the guards. When she left Anne's place and walked here she hadn't encountered a single patrol, a testament to the rough weather outside. The only ones that were out right now were the space dock workers, which were doing last minute repairs on the landing facility. Looking over at Bakur, she noticed that the burly man exchanged withering glances with Kiph.

<OOC>Listen check: Both Kiph and Ralkhara stiffen visibly as they hear faint footsteps outside; footsteps that are moving rapidly away. Someone has been nearby and chances are they eavesdropped on the conversation. Given the extreme weather it is highly unlikely they have just been hanging around or traveled randomly by.</OOC>

Ralkhara's ears perked. Did he just hear...? Kiphs similar reaction affirmed the situation to him, and the scout was already moving - loping hastily to the sliding door of the facility and pushing it open in an effort to see if he could catch a glimpse of the owner of those footsteps before he or she made it out of view. Did they perhaps follow Ceres here? And if so, What had they overheard? Ralkhara thought back on the conversation they had after Ceres's arrival. They had not mentioned the Angel Juice by name, and any spoken reference to it was obscure enough to be explained away as any number of things. They had mentioned 'strange guns', however, plus Ralkhara had spoken of a 'strange machine' the warden might not want to get a hand on. Apart from that, there was the death threat to Steroid Anne by Kiph. Nothing stone-cold, but still a points which a paranoid mind may deem as a threat. Ralkhara cursed beneath his breath; they hadn't been here half a day and already he was beginning to regret coming to Bleak Wood.

<<OOC: Mmm, spot/spot hidden check for an identity (partial or full) of the eavesdropper through the rain, if it isn't too late!>>

Ralkhara squinted to avoid getting water in his eyes, and far away to the right he glimpsed a diminutive shadowy figure sprinting into the darkness. A fragment of a second later the eavesdropper had faded out of sight. But the Nomad Pathfinder had noticed something odd: soft blue lights emanating from a metallic source at the hips of the stranger.

<OOC: The stranger is out of sight, for now, but not out of reach. You may pursue should you so desire>

"The hells be d**ned! As if the wilderness did not hold dangers enough, the city is no different!"Ceres was under pressure. Though she wouldn't admit it, she delighted in being under pressure. It made her think, got the adrenaline pumping, the heart thumping, and the vision tinged a slight tone of red. Made one feel alive.

"Quickly! Bakur, please run after Kiph and save him from himself, and the spy too, we want him to sing. Ralkhara, help me stuff the juice and the guns under the underwear in those crates. Leave one, or better two, guns just under a blanket, so that if they come looking for them, we have something to show."

As for old Radiatos, in his ominous glory and threatening splendor - it was neither a weapon nor armor, and thus the Warden had no imminent right to grab it, right? 'Wrong', Ceres added to herself while she was stuffing the canisters under shorts. Camo shorts. Whoever was in need of camouflaged underwear? A swift image of sweating painting savages wearing camo shorts crossed Ceres' mind, only to be dismissed with a snarl.

"What you say, Ral? We might, if they try claiming it from us, claim that it was our intent to bring it to the faculty for study... we might get a few toys from the scientists in return, too."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Ralkhara sighed beneath his breath at the sight of the figure quickly making its way out of sight. He could try to chase him down; Ralkhara was quite fast over short distances. But if the pursued managed to draw the chase on, he would tire quickly and would be caught in the middle of an unknown, rainsoaked street. His decision quickly made, Ralkhara turned back in and limped back over to the bulk of their wares, "Kiph - I saw blue lights glowing around the midsection of the target. Can you find the person?" Ralkhara paused and turned to his fellow nomad, "And try not to kill him!"Ralkhara was already digging through the crate containing the weapons pieces and tossed a three of what he gauged to be more worthless pieces to Ceres, "Smart Ideas - Use those as the decoys - i'll see what I can do about the rest of these..." Sorting through the inventory of pants, Ralkhara snatched up a large bundle and carried them to the weapons, assorting the clothing through the crate, and stacking a large bundle over the top. Once done, he shuffled over to the mechanical artifact of Radiatos and looked it over - it would be difficult to hide such a bulky thing, "What of this, Ceres? I figure we can only leave it as it is, or shift it out of the storage facility altogether." Most likely, they were overreacting - It could have just been a coincidence the person was there, also, someone eavesdropping doesn't mean a raid was imminent! Even still, it was never a bad thing to be over-wary in this time. Ralkhara idly rubbed his right knee - it always locked up when it was humid.

Kiph moved out silently, without giving any responce. His goggles hung down on his neck, and his shaky hand went instinctively toward his machete. He eyed Ceres before he headed out, then hurriedly skulked after his new quarry.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Bakur grunted. He did not enjoy taking orders from a woman - especially Ceres - but he knew her tactics were usually right. The barbarian pulled the worn wrenches from his belt and gripped them tightly, rushing quietly out the door behind Kiph. Badblood is going to get himself killed, he thought ruefully.

Kiph squeezed past Ralkhara following the pointed finger into darkness created by heavy rain and dark clouds. The rain forced him to squint too, and in mere seconds the assassin was soaking wet. At first he thought to hide, but out in the rain he felt stupid. No one was nearby, visibility was poor and everyone huddled indoors. Scanning the direction Ralkhara indicated, Kiph only noticed shadows and the ramshackle buildings leaning against the South Wall. Rain was hammering into the aluminum roofing on a brick building with such intensity, it seemed like it tried to batter it down. Kiph noticed a figure darting from behind it, across the alley to the relative safety of another building. The figure was fairly far away, but Kiph could have sworn it held a large metallic firearm in its right hand. The figure was heading away from them at high speed.

With a grunt Kiph pointed in the direction of the eavesdropper and ran after him into the rain.

<OOC Kiph: Spot check special success, hide check redundant>

Bakur couldn’t make out anything in the rain, but it hurt as it whipped across his eyes. The wind was picking up speed and caused the rain to lash at the face. He wasn’t surprised when Kiph made a guttural sound and pointed into the dark. Bakur couldn’t see anything even though it was pointed at, but he began running nonetheless. Kiph was seldom wrong.

A few minutes later Bakur had fallen way behind Kiph and the Nomad was nowhere to be seen. Glancing back he did not see the others either. A dog started barking nearby, and Bakur got this bad feeling, spreading from his throat all the way down to his stomach. Something felt so wrong about this.

<OOC Bakur: Hide and Sneak checks redundant>

Ralkhara and Ceres stood back in the room outside the foyer, rummaging through their goods. The sound of running men was soon gone and all that remained was the imperious barking of Ceres and the silent cursing of Ralkhara as they tried to hide the illegal goods amidst kakis and crates.

<OOC Ralkhara and Ceres: Conceal checks are kept secret by the GM>

*****************************************

Kiph kept to the dark, flowing through the alleys and streets like a silent shadow.

*Ka-Click*

A metallic sound pierced the sound of hammering rain. Far away a dog was barking fiercly.

<OOC: Just so you know: The Foyer is NOT your vault. You have a vault several stories below, deep in the bunker, and you may take your stuff back there should you so desire>

Bakur squinted in the rain, his breathing somewhat labored in the cold air. Something very bad was going to happen, he could feel it in his bones. He really is going to get himself killed, Bakur mused. He was not about to give up, however. Whoever that person was, they were after his crew. Heading back to the base would be foolishly unsafe. Better to root out the problem now than wait for it to find them. Bakur advanced, keeping a close eye out for Kiph or the man with the glowing gear.

A young woman opened the door from the foyer of the Storage Facility and looked upon Ceres and Ralkhara. "Wherever did them manfolk go?" she said with broad accent. She was about sixteen years of age, with short black hair and tanned skin. In her arms she carried an infant which was tucked in a rainbow coloured carpet. She was Tara, one of Marcus Maximus' three "Teardrop Angels" as he called his young wives.

"You will not be wanting to stand here, barely sheltered from that ra-in. If you be wanting help, I get them porters, Scott, Michael and Peter to aid you! Standard service, but only for payin' folk!" she said. She paused for a second and then stretched her small, fragile hand towards Ralkhara, as if to lead him inside.

*************************************

Bakur knelt down in the rain, looking at the mud for signs of Kiph's whereabouts. At first there was nothing, but then he noticed skid marks at the corner of a derelict building. Someone had ran past in great hurry and lost their footstep, and it had happened mere minutes ago, for even now the rain was tearing away the evidence. If he continued around the corner and down that alley, he would end up at the bazaar. Bakur stealthily slid along the wall, following the steps of his long time trading associate.

<OOC: Sneak successful, track successful>

***********************************

Kiph stood silent in the shadow of the town windmill. Just some seconds ago he had heard a metallic sound and now he tried to sense his surroundings. The steady downpour of rain, and the fierce gusts of wind made the process harder, but now he could hear footsteps and slow breathing somewhere on the inside of the mill. A floor board creaked inside the building and silent swearing followed brief moments later.

Ralkhara instinctively backed up as the woman reached her hand towards him - the reclusive nomad did not like to be touched - but at the non-threatening gesture, he did take up the offer of walking in, "Tara, was it not? I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of Bleakwood currency; but perhaps we may share several of our wares; We have shorts, in a variety of colours..." Ralkhara paused, glancing at the half-completed sketch he still had in his hand, "Or perhaps you would like a drawing done of you or a friend? I'd be happy to take time to do one in exchange for aid in moving this gear?" Ralkhara raised the semi-complete sketch to show Tara, "It is a hobby of mine."

<<OOC: Art:Sketching check to see if the drawing is good enough to please Tara, plus I suppose a bargain check, yes?>>

Forgetting all about his surroundings, Ralkhara focused intensely on Tara, the young woman stood there, slightly confused, holding her infant child tight against her chest. Expertly the young scout captured her features on paper, even the love between mother and child was evident in the drawing.

This is the finest drawing I ever made, my masterpiece! he thought.

"Ooh, gave me a spacer and learnt me to fly! That's the be-est drawing an-uhne(anyone) ever ma-ade for poor, little Tara!" Tara said, raw emotion evident in her voice. She ripped the paper from Ralkhara's hands and took a closer look. "Uhn look! There be little Johnny too! Awww, he sure be a looker, eh?" Her face positively beamed as she looked at the drawing. "Ol' Marc's gonna luv this uhn! You'll be his fa-ave! Never has uhn of 'is tear drop girlies been po-ortrayed like this!"

"T'was just wonderful, Ral!" Ceres was delighted as line by line, the form of Tara took shape and gained a semblance of life, frozen in the moment. Delight was accompanied by a two-pronged poke of envy's spear, for rarely did anyone draw her, the reasons being obvious, nor was artistic ability one of her assets.

"Let's get them moving then" she pointed to the crates. No sense in leaving them here.

As the carriers were distracted, their backs bent beneath the burden of the crates, Ceres pointed to Radiatos' ominous monument, whispering to Ralkhara: "Let's get this to the faculty - I sure am curious what it is, and what to ask for it, so that we are not totally clueless when the Spacers arrive."

Ceres grabbed the pulley of the aluminium cart carrying the crushing weight of the dark relic. As for a beast of burden, she'd have to suffice.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Kiph crouched and donned his goggles. The world changed around him. Everything took on a slight greenish tinge, though the elements were still uncooperative. With the wind slamming his back, drenched from the downpour, at least he could see somewhat now. Crouching low, he gave his surroundings a once-over and and drew two throwing knives.

This would have to wait, until I'm inside, he thought, eyeing his own arm thoughtfully and for a brief moment simulating a slice across his hand.

Darting now, like a lizard, he neared the mill and swivelled his head to and fro, watching for anything that moved. He knew that the big lummox Bakur, was somewhere nearby, so he had to act quickly if he was to catch the interloper unawares. Spotting what looked like an entrance to the buliding several dozen feet from the noisy "spy", Kiph proceeded along the wall of the mill, keeping in mind where his quarry was last "heard".

A schizophrenic through and through, Kiph put his throwing knives away, and changed to the machete again.

Ceres said something about wanting information. She would be angry if Kiph killed the intruder, he thought, as he debated slicing his own palm again.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

The familiar hues of green flickered across the optics of Kiph’s goggles as he ran through the rain. One – two – three, and he was by the door of the mill, taking care not to outline his own silhouette in the opening. Inside he heard subdued breathing and peeking he noticed the stranger sitting under a window sill while holding the metallic object, a gun, in both hands. Some strange liquid was visible behind glass panes fitted in the metal and a fluorescent blue light emanated from that liquid.

Kiph quickly hid his face as the stranger scanned the doorway and the windows. When he dared looked again, the stranger was nowhere to be seen, but faint creaking sounds came from the stairs.

*******************************

Bakur had followed the tracks for nearly a minute when he noticed the Fatebringer by the door frame of the windmill, some two hundred meters away. The Fatebringer was peeking cautiously into the building.

<OOC: You can both do what you want, be it to run or attack or whatever. You will make it up the floor before you need worry about what will happen, that is if you act quickly. Bakur will need half a minute to make it to the mill>

Not dead yet, Bakur thought as he saw Kiph's silhouette near the windmill. That's a good sign. The Fatebringer had surely tracked his quarry up to the structure. No telling where he was, though. Regardless, Bakur figured he'd better be up there. He rushed up the hill fast as he could toward Kiph's position.

Pausing, briefly addled by seeing the man, Kiph donned his snake-mask, stretching it over his head completely, until he looked like the "Serpent Executioner", another infamous Fatebringer he had heard about. Kiph had spent many a night alone with lizards in the desert, his master, Abak Loett, had often left his pupil, the Badblood, sitting on rocks and studying the reptiles movements for hours and sometimes days on end.

Now, machete in hand, goggles donned over mask, emulating the lizard's silence, Kiph raced up the stairs, stopping suddenly at the top of the flight, and again listening, peering, twitching.

The gun could be a problem, Kiph thought, but Ceres would like the blue, shiny liquid. He crouched again, and crept along, examining the room and hugging the wall.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

It was dry and dusty inside the monolithic brick and plaster windmill. Kiph was soaked and water ran in rivulets to the floor. In Kiph’s mind the drips seemed to echo through the building, but hopefully the strong wind and torrential rain made too much noise for the stranger to notice. Step by step he darted up the wooden stairs, his feet creating sploshing sounds that were barely audible.

<OOC: Sneak check reduced by 20 percent due to wet footwear. Sneak check already succeeded and the remaining 55 percent is subtracted from the listeners chance to detect sound. Kiph is very silent and it will be hard for the spy to detect him!Spy listen check (10% chance of success): Listen check failed>

The huge blades of the windmill made high pitched screeching sounds as a particularly strong gust of wind threatened to break the wind-locks that had been applied to them. By the window the spy was clearly visible to Kiph with his green tinged night vision. The spy held a flashlight, or something akin to a flash light, up in the window and with irregular intervals he flashed the light on and off, oblivious of the presence of the Fatebringer.

“Fu-uck me! I thought he had me there!” the stranger said, catching Kiph unaware. The voice he heard was female.

<OOC: She is alone up there talking to herself. The figure Kiph followed was female all along>

*************************

Bakur ran up the hill, desperate in his effort to save Kiph. He didn’t quite understand why, but he felt more and more uneasy, as if he was sure that Kiph was gonna die. Suddenly a source of light appeared in a window higher up on the edifice, blinking on and off several times. Shortly thereafter there was reply, four blinks in rapid succession emanating from an alley some fifty meters in front of Bakur. Seconds thereafter two men wearing black clothes emerged from the alley, heading for the mill at full speed. They did not sense the huge wastelander, focusing solely on the soaring tower.

"It's just a hobby..." Ralkhara downplayed the sketch he had done, although secretly, he was quite proud of himself - all those years of filling in time by drawing were paying off, after all. Ralkhara opened the sliding door to the outside of the storage facility then moved to the back of the artifact - though he couldn't nearly pull that cart by himself, he could lighten Ceres' workload a bit, "Lets get Master to cart it for us," Ralkhara suggested; their oxen had served them well this last year, since they bought them from the Broken branch tribals at the edge of blackwood, "We'd only need one of them to pull it."

"Right you are" Ceres nodded, though a bit loathe to inflict this sort of weather upon the beast. Still, it had its merits- there wouldn't be a shortage of moisture in the wastes for some time to come.

Master, strapped to the cart, pulled it with a godlike calm, caring little whether it held supplies, or the hell in a box. His life was simple. He pulled stuff.

Soon, they neared the faculty, its lights piercing the gloom as the minds within were supposed to pierce the veil of ignorance. The roofed loading area was empty except for an empty supply cart and a lone guard leaning against it, enjoying the last pulls of his cigar silently while mocking the raindrops that couldn't get at him with a broad grin.

Palm outstretched in greeting, Ceres approached him: "Evening, sirrah. I'd ask a question, if I may: Sir Jonathan Samuel Meyers, the physicist, is he present?" she inquired, naming a younger member of the faculty, a lad she had spoken to a few times in the library, a year back when she had paid for the privilege to browse the tomes held within. If she only was a member of the institution, she'd be able to access the books anytime! That library was like a box pralines to her - utterly irresistible.

After the guard had half a second to consider the presence or eventual absence of Jonathan, Ceres added: "If he has some time to spare, he will not regret it - we might have something of great interest for him."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"